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The air was biting cold, sharp enough to sting the lungs with every breath, it was to be expected in New York in the wintertime. Below, the lake spread out like a sheet of dark glass, reflecting the gray winter sky. Sal stood at the open door of the helicopter, bundled in a tacky gold jumpsuit with about five mini-cameras strapped to him and an expression that hovered somewhere between disbelief and dread.
“Guys,” he said, his voice almost lost to the whir of the blades. “This is insane. You can’t actually want me to jump into that!” From the headset, Joe’s voice crackled gleefully. “Oh, we absolutely do.”
Brian’s laugh followed, rough and unmistakably fond, a laugh which usually spread warmth through Sal’s chest, but this time only seemed to taunt him. “Come on, buddy! Just think of it as an ice bath. Builds character!”
“I have enough character!” Sal shot back, gripping the edge of the helicopter door. The wind whipped at his hair and skin, feeling like mini shards of glass poking him in the face, causing him to shiver before he even touched the water. “I swear to God, if I die-”
“Then I get your parking spot,” Joe chimed in cheerfully, causing Sal to roll his eyes. He didn’t expect much understanding anyway- they weren’t ten feet in the air, dangling from a helicopter about to jump into a freezing lake, they were safe on the ground. Sal groaned. “Unbelievable. You’re all terrible.” Sal looked down at the freezing expanse below a. “Okay… okay. Let’s get this over with.” He closed his eyes, counted to three, and jumped.
The shock of the cold hit him like a punch. The lake swallowed him whole, his body locking up instantly. It felt like he was underwater for minutes, the seconds moving in slow motion as he kicked his way to the surface, gasping as the air ripped from his lungs. Shouting for someone to come and get him from the middle of the lake as he forced himself to stay afloat.
From above, the laughter of his friends echoed down through the rotor wash. “That’s our Sal!” Joe crowed.
By the time they hauled him back out of the water and into a plastic foldable chair, Sal was shivering so violently that he could barely talk. His lips were blue, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. “Who thought this was a good idea?” Sal asked between small gasps, still being checked out by the one singular EMT on set. Brian wrapped him in a thick blanket to try and comfort his shivering co-star, “Everybody but you,” he replied, stifling a laugh before walking back to where Joe and Murr were congregating, giving Sal some space to decompress, knowing how he usually becomes pissy after outrageous punishments, and this was definitely about to become one of those times.
The surrounding area smelled faintly of coffee, sweat, and residual panic—the usual end-of-shoot aroma. This punishment of the day had been particularly cruel, even by their standards, at least that’s what Brian thought, seeing how hard Sal had struggled in the water sent a wave of shock and panic through him which he wasn’t really sure if Joe or Murr felt but had left Brian shaken up for the rest of the time they’d spent on set packing up.
Now, the lights were down, the crew was packed and ready to go, but Sal was still sitting in that same plastic chair, still wrapped in a blanket to try and still heat himself back up again, shoulders slumped. He felt freezing, uncomfortable and bone-tired. The laughter of his friends echoed somewhere behind him, but it all felt distant. “Sal,” a voice called softly. Brian’s voice. Familiar and grounding. “Come on, man. Time to go.” Sal blinked and looked up, forcing a grin that came out crooked. “Yeah, yeah. Just catching my breath. My dignity’s scattered all over the floor, I’m trying to gather it.” he muttered, shaking his head, his hair still slightly damp.
Brian chuckled, the sound rough and warm. “Good luck with that. I think Murr sold it on eBay.”
That earned a weak laugh. But Brian noticed something—Sal’s usual post-punishment spark wasn’t there, usually he was fiery and loved expressing how pissed off he was about the whole thing- how unfair the punishments were and threatening to leave the show, but not this time, he was pretty much silent. His skin looked pale, and when Brian moved closer, he saw the faint flush creeping up Sal’s neck and cheeks. Not from embarrassment. From fever.
“You alright, buddy?” Brian asked, crouching a little to allow for his brown eyes to meet the sunken green pair in infront of him. Sal waved a hand lazily, his voice still quiet and raspy from all the shouting he did while waiting for the EMT to retrieve him from the middle of the lake, “Yeah. Just wiped. That was brutal.”
But Brian couldn’t just leave it at that, he took a better glance at Sal, noticing the slight shiver in his body, he reached out and gently placed his hand on top of Sal’s for a moment, finally feeling how cold his body really was, “Jesus, Sal, you’re freezing.” he mumbled, more to himself than to Sal. Brian couldn’t help but kick himself internally for even allowing them to do this punishment at this time of year, not trying to come up with an alternative punishment instead of making Sal do this when the water would be so cold.
Sal’s voice came out in a quiet tremble, breaking Brian out of his thoughts, “No kidding, genius.” he grumbled as Brian pulled him close, rubbing his arms to generate warmth. “You’re alright. We’ll get you home, hot shower, soup—everything. You’re fine.”
But Brian wasn’t entirely sure.
The ride to Brian’s apartment was quiet. The kind of silence that happens when two people are comfortable enough not to fill it, the kind of silence that only develops after decades of knowing somebody. Sal leaned against the passenger window, green eyes half-shut, streetlights painting orange stripes across his face. His usual jokes were gone, replaced by heavy breathing and the occasional cough. Brian couldn’t help but keep glancing over, worry gnawing at his gut, he’d even turned the heating up to the max in the jeep, just to try and make Sal a little more comfortable. Sal was the strongest of them in some ways—stubborn, sensitive, trying to keep laughing even when things went sideways. Sal was such a germaphobe that he never really got sick, he always kept himself out of harm’s way, so seeing him look fragile twisted something deep inside Brian’s heart.
When they arrived at Brian’s familiar apartment, Brian led Sal inside, flicking on the warm amber lights of his apartment. It smelled faintly of coffee and sandalwood candles. Homey. Safe.Sal was pale and sluggish. Sal had forced himself to take a quick shower, to get rid of all the bacteria from the lake and just to feel some warmth from an almost boiling shower, but his skin still felt clammy, and his voice was raspy and almost fully gone. When he tried to joke, his words came out weak.
“Alright, couch or bed?” Brian asked as he noticed Sal reemerge back from the bathroom, a cloud of steam following behind him, “Couch,” Sal muttered, already halfway there. He dropped into the cushions, exhaling like he’d been holding his breath all day. Brian watched him fumble with the blanket as he collapsed onto the couch and grabbed an extra blanket and tossed it over him. “You want anything? Water? Gatorade? One of those horrible energy drinks that Joe gave me like fifty of last month when I couldn’t sleep?”
Sal cracked one eye open. “You have Gatorade?”
Brian smiled. “Always. Hang tight.”
He returned with a bottle, setting it beside Sal, and reached out without thinking cup his cheek for a brief moment. Sal was burning up. Brian crouched in front of him, pressing the back of his hand against Sal’s forehead. It burned hot. “You’ve got a fever.”
Sal sighed, pulling the blanket tighter around himself. “Just tired. Cold got to me, that’s all.”
Brian frowned. “You nearly went hypothermic, Sal. This isn’t nothing.” He stood and went to the kitchen, grabbing the thermometer. “Maybe I’m just hot-blooded,” Sal called out, trying to grin, but it faded fast. His head tipped back lazily against the cushion, eyes shutting again. “Or maybe I’m dying. Tell Joe I want to haunt Murr.”
“Don’t joke,” Brian’s said, grabbing the thermometer. “Open up.”
“Q, come on—”
“Open.”
Sal sighed and obeyed. A moment later, the thermometer beeped. 102.4°F. Brian’s heart sank.
“Well, that’s not great,” Brian muttered. “You’ve got a real fever, man.”
Sal coughed, trying to shrug it off. “Guess your jokes today were real infectious.”
Brian stared at him. “Even sick, you’re making puns?”
“It’s a defense mechanism.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not working. You look like death.”
Sal cracked an eye again. “You sure know how to make a guy feel sexy.”
Brian laughed despite himself. “Shut up, I think I've got some Tylenol you can take.”
Over the next hour, Brian slipped effortlessly into caretaker mode. He brought Tylenol, water, and a cool washcloth. He dimmed the lights, made tea, and found one of Sal’s old hoodies in the closet—a relic from the early days of the show that Sal had left there years ago.
When Sal pulled it on, he gave a sleepy smile. “Didn’t know you still had this.”
“Of course I do,” Brian said quietly. “You practically lived here when we were shooting the first season.”
Sal chuckled, the sound breaking into a cough. “We were so young. So dumb.”
“And now we’re a little older and still dumb,” Brian said, settling beside him. “Full circle.”
Sal turned his head to look at him. “Thanks for doing this.”
“Hey, don’t thank me. Just rest.”
But Sal didn’t close his eyes. He watched Brian, gaze heavy-lidded but thoughtful. “You ever think about… I dunno, how long we’ve been doing this? The show. Us. The guys.”
“All the time.”
“It’s weird. We prank each other for a living, but sometimes it feels like the only thing that keeps me sane.”
Brian smiled faintly. “Same here. You’re the heart of it, you know. The group. You always have been.”
Sal snorted softly. “Heart of it? I’m the punchline.”
“Yeah, but the punchline’s what people love most.”
Brian sat down beside him and draped the cool cloth across Sal’s forehead. His touch lingered a little longer than it needed to, his thumb brushing Sal’s temple gently. “You scared the hell out of me today.”
Sal cracked an eye open once again, a little smile tugging at his lips. “You? Scared? Please. You were laughing the whole time.”
“Yeah, well, I knew you were gonna be fine. But it was just when you hit that water, I—” Brian stopped himself, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”
Sal studied him quietly, his voice softer now. “You really were worried.”
Brian met his eyes and smiled faintly. “Course I was. You’re my guy, Sal.”
There was a silence after that. Sal stared at the ceiling, eyes glassy, and Brian could tell he was fading fast. Fever or not, he was fighting to stay awake.
“Sleep,” Brian murmured, brushing a hand through his hair. “I’m right here.”
Sal’s lips curved faintly. “You always are.”
Within minutes, his breathing evened out. Brian stayed beside him, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest. Every few minutes, he replaced the cool cloth, made sure Sal was warm but not overheated. The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the heater and the soft sound of rain starting outside. Brian thought back—years of memories, laughter, chaos. From open mics to hidden-camera shows to nights like this one, when the laughter faded and real life crept in. Sal had always been his constant. The one who could make him laugh till his ribs hurt, the one who saw through his walls. The one who made him feel at home.
Sometime around 2 a.m., Sal stirred. Brian was half-asleep in the armchair beside the couch. A raspy voice broke the silence.
“Q?”
He blinked awake. “Yeah? You okay?”
Sal’s brow furrowed. “You didn’t have to stay up.”
“Couldn’t sleep. You snore like a chainsaw.”
Sal chuckled weakly. “I do not.”
“You absolutely do, you sounded like that damn helicopter."
Sal groaned and turned onto his side, facing Brian. His green eyes, though tired, held warmth. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”
Brian smiled softly. “Nah. You just make it easy.”
Sal looked like he wanted to say something else but didn’t, like he was biting his tongue. Instead, he reached out, fingers brushing Brian’s wrist, still unable to break the eye contact. “Thanks.”
Brian covered his hand gently. “Anytime.”
They stayed like that a moment—hands linked, the storm outside tapping against the windows like a lullaby. Eventually, Sal drifted off again, and Brian sat watching him, heart full and aching.
Morning came gray and soft. The fever had broken. Brian was making eggs—poorly, but the effort counted. Sal shuffled into the kitchen, wrapped in the blanket. “You’re cooking?” Sal questioned, voice still raspy.
Brian grinned as he turned to face Sal, “Don’t sound so surprised. I make a mean scrambled egg.”
Sal sat at the counter, rubbing his eyes. “You didn’t sleep at all, did you?”
Brian shrugged. “Didn’t want you to wake up alone.”
Sal’s lips curved. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Probably. But admit it—you’d do the same for me. I know you’ve done the same for me.” Brian countered, thinking back to the times where Sal had stayed with Brian when his depression was almost unbearable, staying up all night whilst Brian slept just to make sure he was alright.
Sal paused, like his mind was replaying those exact same memories, then smiled. “Yeah. I would.”
Brian plated the food and brought it over, setting it gently in front of him. “How you feeling?”
“Better,” Sal admitted. “Still tired, but the room stopped spinning, so that’s nice.”
“Good.” Brian sat down across from him. “You scared me yesterday, you know.” he admitted, referring to both the punishment and the sudden sickness which plagued his best friend.
Sal smiled faintly, picking at his food. “You really care, huh?”
“Of course I do,” Brian said softly. “Always have.”
Sal looked at him for a long moment before nodding. “Thanks, Q. For everything.”
Brian shrugged, trying to play it off. “Just returning the favor for all the times you’ve carried me through my own dumb moments.”
Sal chuckled. “Yeah, well, next time, maybe you can take jumping into a freezing lake for me.”
“Deal,” Brian said, grinning. “But only if I get to push Murr in afterward.” They ate quietly, the comfortable silence of two people who didn’t need words to fill the space. When they were done, Sal leaned back, looking at Brian with a small, genuine smile.“Hey, Q?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you, man.”
Brian froze, then laughed softly. “About time you said it out loud.”
Sal’s face turned red but this time it wasn’t from his sickness, still, he couldn’t bring himself to look away. “Guess it took a fever to make me honest.”
They laughed together, the sound light and healing. And for once, there were no cameras, no punishments, no audience—just two best friends sitting in the quiet after the storm, hearts steady, laughter soft, and love—real and unspoken—settling into the space between them like sunlight after rain. Their laughter filled the room, warm and easy. And in that moment, surrounded by sunlight and the smell of burnt toast, everything felt right again. Because for all the pranks, punishments, and chaos, they always found their way back to this—two friends, two fools, and a bond that ran deeper than the freezing lake itself.